Why I Could Never Be Gay.

My partner in class is a forty-two-year-old gay man who looks like he's twenty-six. When I saw him for the first time I realised he was married and thought, "Wow, some lucky girl snagged him at a young age." Appearances can be deceiving.

So Glenn and I work famously together. We get shit down, we finish eachother's thoughts and yesterday we started feeding eachother. It's a nice relationship.

But today wasn't so nice.

I was in charge of tempering the fondant. My hand was in a pot of sugar, massaging it to my body tempterature, over a burner on HIGH. The contents of the pot had to be poured over a chiffon cake; it had to be perfect or the glaze wouldn't shine.
Pouring fondant over anything while your hands are full of orange, slimey sugar is close to impossible. My cake didn't turn out and only because Glenn was to absorbed in his own cake to realise that mine was slowly but surely falling into despair. This hasn't been the first time he's neglected to help his partner.
But Glenn and I still get on alright. I realise that he's there for him and him alone, so I don't try to reserve him extra icing for his cakes, nor do I care if he has enough marzipan to finish his carrots, I just assume he'll take care of himself because that's what Glenn does.

So whatever, we get along fine.

Today he told me that if I slapped on a plaid shirt I could easily pass for a Butch. I guess gay men aren't as sensitive as the straight public seem to think.
I laughed it off. It's not the first time that I've been teased about how I look and sure, being five foot ten and not owning the ability to act like a flippy, fucktard of a female could easily be a clue towards my sexuality. All women over five foot five, who curse like sailors, have big tits and are slightly ambitous are OBVIOUSLY dykes. Obviously.

I told him I was going to go home and cry about it. He didn't believe me. I said I was delicate. He said that wasn't a word that he would use to describe me. I just shutup.

So after class I told Paul, the other resident gay man in the class about what Glenn had said. He laughed heartily and said, "Well Anna, I could totally agree with him", and left it that. So obviously now I feel like a fat, manly female who needs to raid a lumberjack's closet because obviously my clothing isn't living up to my new and improved status of, "Lesbo in Training."

Condemn me for saying this, but I honestly think that gay people have some sort of glitch in their brain that doesn't allow them to be anything but selfabsorbed and insensitive bitches.

Now if you'll exscuse me, I need to learn how to be anorexic so I can convince the homo population that I'm not one of them.

Mr. Sandman.

I've been reading Harry Potter non-stop lately and because of this, I usually have some demented dreams where I'm running around Hogwards, being a wonderful witch and having a fantastic time about it. So far I have yet to run into mermaids, but I have my fingers crossed.

Last night I dreamt about Pan's Labrynth (I think), and a man (whom I think was my boyfriend), that was buying me silk robes because I was a journalism student and I needed to look professional. I ended up sitting in a room full of women who were hanging off my every word. My eyelashes were huge and I look right fucked.
Eventually I ended up sitting at a dinner table, eating with a fellow I'm specifically not supposed to have a crush on, but he was playing footsies with me under the table! Que es le fuck? So I exscused myself and decided to stroll down the street when I noticed he was trailing right behind me. He asked me if I had access to the school for interviews and I said yes, so he followed me into a British phone booth where I clumsily tried to remember the password from the, Order of the Phoenix.
In the book Harry noted how tight of a fit it was for him and Mr. Weasley to squeeze into the box. Oddly enough I remember thinking, "Harry was right, this really is a small space."

A loud bang woke me up after that.

Last week I dreamt I went on a date with my Chef. I can't remember what we did, or how it went, I just remember him smiling a lot at me and being completely taken with him. Now whenever I see him I burst into silly giggles because the dream has caused me a horrid case of butterflies.

I also dreamt about my old boss, who randomly met me in a mall to go shoe shopping for the prom. He was very anal about what he wanted and at the end of it, we just went to see a movie instead.
That dream forever tainted my thoughts of Paul.

And of course there was the dream where Katie Hood's mother had called me to tell me that Katie was homeless and living in a tent in BC. I remember her begging me to find her and convince Katie to move back to, "Canada" (apparently BC does not register as part of Canada in REM), but I failed miserably at it because I was again, awoken by a large THUMP.

I've never dreamt this much in my life. I wonder why it's happening now.

Fudge.

Masterpiece number 2039840283 since attending George Brown. It's beautiful isn't it? Fudge icing, ganache, delicately manacured chocolate and pastry cream wrapped into a chocolate sponge of glorious wonder. It's a complete chocolate overload and it was a complete pain in my arse to make.

I only manged a B.

Two weeks ago I visited Niagara.
I was stoked on meeting the Doctor, I was curious about meeting Blue Tie. I bought a new shirt and new panties and endured bad weather to see these two men. One didn't show his face, the other just made me feel guilty and by the end of it, the only thing that was running through my mind was, "What the fuck am I doing?"

After that, admiring blue tie became difficult.
I grew incredibly impatient with his lack of interest in me and incredibly furious with myself for allowing It to get so stupid. I finally reached the point that allowed me to be uninterested in him and so far it's managed to maintain itself. There are days where I want to call him, but I soon realise the point is mute and therefore never do. There are days where I want him to feel the frustration and heartache that he bestowed upon me and there are days where I want nothing more than to walk infront of him aimlessly just to see him grovel for my attention.

A woman has the power to make a man crumble as soon as she learns not to care.

I couldn't look at the doctor as we drove around Niagara.
The guilt that bounced around in me made me feel nervous and ashamed. It wasn't his fault that we weren't compatible, I just couldn't give myself over to the idea of being on an actual date while my boyfriend sat at home watching football.

And that was when the gravity of my choices hit me and I suddenly felt like enough of an idiot for me to say to myself, "Jesus, I've been blind for the past four months."

It's so easy to push the blame onto someone when they're not meeting the expectations that were set for another person. It's so easy to be disgusted with someone when you're trying not to be disgusted with yourself and it's even easier to say that, 'Toronto is a shite city, I hate it' when you want to take the easy way out and get back home to what you think is going to solve your heartache.

Stupid girl.

For the first time in a long time, I actually believe that I want to be with Andrew. Now I just need to learn how to be a decent human again to make it happen.

Chicken Skins.

I never thought I was a picky eater until recently.

There's a chicken breast that's been coated with fat and bathed in grease sitting infront of me and I'm finding it tremendously difficult to eat it. Oddly enough, it's not the caloric intake that's grossing me out, it's the fact that I have to mutilate it to get it into my mouth. *blech*
I bought bananas two days ago and now they're too mushy to eat. They'll sit on my microwave until they go black and then I'll throw them in the freezer until I'm ready to make banana muffins (Which is a method that is usually despised as it requires peeling bad bananas. Icky). And then usually, being reminded of the method makes it impossible for me to chomp down on their cakey goodness. Black bananas are gross y0.

Andrew and I had a fight when he got home from work last night.
I was being paranoid and wanted to get to the bus terminal as soon as he walked through the door. He was tired and wanted to hang a picture and needed my help and instead of being a calm and rational person about it, I sulked through the entire event. Needless to say, the picture didn't get hung and I grumbled about being late for buses (Which I wasn't. I arrived twenty minutes early, but that's not the point. The point is I'm punctual and he isn't and that pisses me off).
We drove in silence for most of the trip. Finally I said, "I'm sorry for being a bitch, I'm just paranoid about missing my bus." He said nothing.
I had noted a few days back that Andrew hasn't told me that he loved me in quite some time. While my feelings for Andrew have definitely mellowed and while I am no longer in proper love with him, I still do love him. So when I got out of the car, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him that I loved him. He started to return the sentiment, stopped halfway through and said, "Have a good weekend", and then drove away.

When I arrived in St. Catharines a bum without any shoes kept circling me and looking at my ass. As I do not own an ass, I assumed there was something on it, so I kept turning around oddly, trying to get a glimpse of my derriere. I felt strange.

(Ewe! Chicken Bone!)

Dianne picked me up and proceeded to complain about her day, which was a nice change of scenery from angry boyfriends and ass glancing bums.

Ah, the joys of Niagara.

I'm meeting a man named Randy today in Fort Erie. Yesterday I thought it would be a good idea, today I'm scared shitless.
When I broke up with Ian I vowed that I wouldn't have a boyfriend. Breaking up with Andrew, I'm positive I said the same thing. But here I am, meeting a new man that I could potentially date. I really am quite good at doing the exact opposite of what I intend.

It's time for me to go back to bed.

Wicked.

"Kiss me too fiercely
Hold me too tight
I need help believing
You're with me tonight
My wildest dreamings
Could not foresee
Lying beside you
With you wanting me

Just for this moment
As long as you're mine
I've lost all resistance
And crossed some borderline
And if it turns it out
It's over too fast...
I'll make every last moment last
As long as you're mine."

I took my mother to see Wicked for her birthday just before Christmas and since then I've been stuck listening to the soundtrack on a loop.

I like musicals.

But those lyrics are ironically painful to me recently. Overly ironic in a very dramatic way. My feelings for blue tie are nowhere as potent as the romantic undertones in those lyrics, but they ring similar feelings, and therefore, becoming relevant.

Forbidden relationships suck.

Andrew and I agreed to take a break from eachother for a month.
Oddly enough we've still managed to maintain the duties of a couple in a healthy relationship. He's still bringing my dry cleaning out, I'm still mopping up his messes. We sleep in the same bed, still call eachother pet names and even kissed calmly on new years in the midst of a lot of bad musicians and loud drunks.

A month to see if our relationship can be rekindled. If not, I move back home and figure it out from there.

Maybe my ambition to be the ultimate Wal Mart Unloader will be met.